


Poetic Judgment (Or Something)

by whatabadchoice



Series: Tuesdays [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, hotel au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 17:23:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9502274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatabadchoice/pseuds/whatabadchoice
Summary: They hadn’t talked about it, and it hadn’t happened again. In fact, Mr. Smith had been the perfect image of consummate professionalism the next day at work. Castiel was grateful for his discretion. They had decided that it wasn’t a big deal. Itwasn’t. Just two acquaintances muttering words of encouragement while bringing themselves to orgasm. Totally normal.Castiel never imagined the guest writhing on his own fingers, calling Cas’ name. Nope.





	

**Author's Note:**

> alright, just 2-3 more now haha

JUNE 24TH

It’s Tuesday again. Castiel doesn’t even listen to Anna when she gives him the daily news, which proves to be a poor choice later when Mr. Tobin is looking for his dry cleaning. But he can’t help it. His mouth is already watering at the thought of Mr. Wednesday’s slightly spicy scent.

They hadn’t talked about it, and it hadn’t happened again. In fact, Mr. Smith had been the perfect image of consummate professionalism the next day at work. Castiel was grateful for his discretion. They had decided that it wasn’t a big deal. It _wasn’t_. Just two acquaintances muttering words of encouragement while bringing themselves to orgasm. Totally normal. 

Castiel never imagined the guest writhing on his own fingers, calling Cas’ name. Nope.

Castiel does the check-ins, logging the no-shows and closing the day shift. He fills up the printer and runs the audit. He (reluctantly) calls a houseman to watch the desk as he runs down to the server room to back up the cameras.

Still, Mr. Smith doesn’t show, and Castiel’s mood steadily worsens.

The only bright part of his life besides Mr. Smith is the fact that he has managed to stay on Crowley’s good side since the suspension. Sleep generally evades him and the hours at the center prove to be, at times, overwhelming, but Castiel makes it through. And it makes it easier that he has Mr. Smith to talk to at the end of a difficult day.

He doesn’t come every day, Castiel reasons. And even though Tuesdays are usually a guarantee, there _have_ been some that he hasn’t shown up. Once, he was literally snowed in at the office and called the hotel to make sure they weren’t “worried”. Castiel had never found anything more endearing than a man willing to call an establishment to let them know he wouldn’t be in the room he pays for. Another time, Dean hadn’t arrived until the early hours of the morning. He hadn’t smelled very nice and not even the sheepish look or apologetic curve of his mouth had placated the surprisingly strong mix of possessive jealousy and burning curiosity that had flared in Castiel’s stomach at the sight.

Still, that had been months ago, back when Mr. Smith had first started at the company. His rituals were so ingrained that the housekeeping staff often fought to be assigned his spotless room. Castiel always heard them on his way out at seven.

So Castiel was justified. It wasn’t just some odd Alpha instinct kicking in. And it definitely had nothing to do with the other night on the phone. He had _reasons_ for being miffed, if not worried about Mr. Smith’s well-being. Besides. Mr. Smith was an Alpha too. He could take care of himself, so Castiel’s concern was definitely professional slash amicable. Work acquaintances could worry about each other.

Castiel is in the middle of his third check through the revenue report, attempting to convince himself that Mr. Smith is perfectly fine, when he hears the doorbell chime.

The doors are locked every night at midnight for security purposes, and Castiel spends most of his nights mimicking a swiping motion so the people on the other side of the glass understand that _yes, your room card_ needed to be used to unlock it. So when he glances at the clock to see it’s two a.m., he tries not to glare when he lifts his eyes to the door.

Oh.

Castiel distantly thinks maybe he should mentally call him Mr. Wednesday now, considering.

His knocks on the glass get more obnoxious, however, and Castiel is brought out of his reverie.

“SWIPE YOUR CARD!” Castiel mouths exaggeratedly, still staring at Mr. Smith. His hair is a mess, his usual slicked back style mussed. Not to mention the way one of his suspenders is hanging off his shoulder, his pinstripe shirt half tucked into his sinfully tight slacks.

This man is a fucking menace.

Mr. Smith just waves his arm and smiles apologetically. Castiel playfully pretends for a moment that he can’t do anything. At Mr. Smith’s horror-struck face, however, he activates the buzzer.

“Come on in,” he speaks into the phone by the computer. Wednesday seems surprised to hear his voice out of the speaker in the vestibule, but does as he is told quickly. Cas can’t help the pleased hum that Mr. Smith’s quick obedience elicits. God, he must be near his rut or something.

“Heya Cas,” comes the low voice that belongs to Castiel’s favourite guest. Cas bites his lip. He is definitely near his rut, because his imagination is going wild with the way Mr. Smith saunters towards the desk.

The lobby is deserted, as it usually is on a Tuesday night at two in the morning, but for once, Castiel wishes somebody was around to distract him.

Mr. Smith smells fan-fucking-tastic. Cas can hear his own breath hitch as Dean comes to lean on the desk. What the actual fuck is happening here? He always smells good, but right now Mr. Smith smells _really fucking good_. And... Castiel frowns, confused.

“Aren’t ya gonna say hi?” the disheveled man smirks, looking up at Cas through his lashes. Castiel is speechless.

“Hello, Mr. Smith,” he chokes out, trying his best not to inhale, but catching the faint taste of whiskey on the man’s warm breath.

“Hello, Mr. Novak,” Mr. Smith responds, giggling a little at his poor impression. Castiel is too distracted to even pretend to laugh at the joke. Mr. Smith is inebriated. Castiel’s brain isn’t working properly. The information won’t process.

“How are you this evening?”

“I am fine,” Mr. Smith drawls out, the southern twang in his voice heavier than ever. Castiel licks his lips and vaguely wonders if he is drooling. Oh God, he has to stop. Maybe it’s the rut that’s making the man in front of him smell like... He couldn’t be. He can’t. And even if he is, it doesn’t change anything. “No!” Mr. Smith nearly shouts, and Castiel is brought back to the rambling man. “No. Not fine. Cas, I’m GREAT!”

“Uh,” Cas responds elegantly. But it hardly matters because Mr. Smith is already talking again.

“I quit my fucking job, Cas!” he exclaims triumphantly.

Cas frowns.

“Congratu...lations?” he says uncertainly. Mr. Smith claps him on the back, smile wide. Castiel holds his breath.

“Thanks, man! So proud of myself. Really fucked it up _creatively_ this time, you know?” Mr. Smith’s grin turns into a grimace. “What can you expect, right, from a bitch? ‘Should be barefoot in a kitchen somewhere prob’ly... Need a strong Alpha making the money. S’my own damn fault for trustin’ someone like her, y’know? Y’know, Cas?”

Mr. Smith looks up at Cas, who is still trying to process the new details.

“Oh yeah! Bet you didn’t smell that, eh? Bet you didn’t know I was a breeder. Thought I was a big bad Alpha just like you. SURPRISE!” Mr. Smith laughs, and licks his lips, suddenly leering. “Lisa was pretty damn surprised too. Didn’t waste a second telling ol’ Zach what’s what. Always a competition, always a damn competition with her...Shoulda known, Cas.” Dean looks at Cas right in the eye then, suddenly struck by an idea.”’Smelled you though, Cas. Right from the start, smelled you under those cheap blockers. And you tellin’ me to open myself up for you, I didn’t forget, Cas. Wish I coulda seen you. Guess it’s only fair now, ain’t it? That’s a pretty good smell you’re hidin’ there, Cas. ‘s a shame. Damn shame. ‘Thought ‘bout that smell lots...”

Castiel inhales sharply, forgetting to do so through his mouth and immediately regretting it as his nostrils fill with Mr. Smith’s scent. Castiel stares silently at the disheveled looking man for a second longer, then comes to a decision.

“Houseman to reception, houseman to reception, thank you.”

Cas puts down the radio to come around the front of the desk. Mr. Smith tracks him, a dangerous look in his eye.

“Mr. Smith, I think maybe my colleague should help you get back to your room...”

“Not gonna bring me up yourself, Cas? Don’t wanna know what I taste like? I know you want to...” Mr. Smith leans in close and Castiel barely resists the urge to close the small space between them to scent him properly.

His inner Alpha is begging to hide this beautiful creature away and make sure everyone knows he is Castiel’s. _Protectprotectprotect_ is the repeated hum in Castiel’s head, but his higher functions are reminding him that Mr. Smith is a top marketing executive. He likely worked extremely hard to get where he is and one forgotten pill did not amount to consent. At least, not by Castiel’s self-imposed rules. The laws, however, were a different story. And if Castiel were a lesser man... Well. As it is, Castiel can smell his impending heat. That, paired with the alcohol, means this guest is in no position to be offering Castiel anything. And it certainly does not give Castiel permission to act as anything but Mr. Smith’s receptionist. That thought is what keeps Castiel in check.

“I think Charlie is much better suited to the task,” Castiel grits out calmly. Mr. Smith is eyeing him up and down, fingers twitching.

“You’re the best suit for this task, Cas,” he slurs, hand coming out to touch Castiel’s nose. Mr. Smith’s skin brushing his is almost too much for Castiel, but he resists the urge to trap the lingering fingers with his teeth.

“I’m flattered,” Castiel deadpans, hoping humour will be enough to deflect Dean a little longer until Charlie arrives. Castiel curses himself. She’s probably taking her sweet time because he called her a “houseman” again. She prefers housewoman, but Castiel had forgotten in his haste and confusion.

“Charlie’s not as cute as you,” Mr. Smith continues, brightening. “Doesn’t smell as good...”

Mr. Smith leans in then, nose nearly buried in Castiel’s neck as he scents him thoroughly. Castiel can’t help the strangled whine that erupts at the back of his throat. Where the fuck is Charlie?

Mr. Smith purrs at the sound, his hands coming up to Castiel’s sides. He crowds Castiel so that they end up against the desk, Mr. Smith’s leg slotted between his.

“Yeah,” Mr. Smith says, thumbs squeezing at Castiel’s hips. “Gonna let me pin you? Jus’ gonna let your Omega be the boss like that, _Alpha_?”

Even if Mr. Smith’s leg wasn’t pressing up against Cas’ crotch, he could probably smell the arousal that must be rolling off him in waves.

“Sir,” Castiel tries again, albeit half-heartedly. “Please.”

“S’my line, Cas.”

“I—” Castiel starts, but he isn’t able to finish because Mr. Smith is back to nosing at Castiel’s neck.

“’Never been so happy ‘bout getting fired... Didn’t think I’d ever get to touch you. But if people are gonna treat me like a bitch, m’gonna act like one. ‘Get what I want while I can...”

“I thought,” Castiel is saying breathlessly, gently pushing Mr. Smith’s face away from the sensitive skin on his neck. “I thought you said you quit.”

That actually makes Mr. Smith pause, and he pulls back to look at Cas.

“Boss offered me a new job actually!” Dean says cheerfully, the bitter sting evident in his bright voice. “Found out I was a breeder’n _suggested_ I take a lower position that offered more time for family. Nice guy, eh? Fuckin’considerate. I had a coupl’a suggestions for where he could put his demotion.”

“That’s horrible, Mr. Smith. I’m so sorry,” Castiel says sincerely. He pushes a few sweaty strands of sandy hair off Mr. Smith’s forehead, wishing he could offer more comfort. Mr. Smith leans into the motion anyway, a pleased low growl sounding in his throat.

“S’ok. Was only a matter o’time. Forget one tiny fucking pill and s’my whole life, just poof!” he laughs bitterly. Cas’ fingers ache to soothe the frown on his face. Having spent his entire career being told he is overqualified based solely on the fact that he is an Alpha, Cas can’t help but feel for Mr. Smith, who has suffered the complete opposite treatment according to his designation. The world was an incredibly unfair place, Castiel’s blood boiled at the mere thought of someone overlooking Mr. Smith’s qualifications just because of his genetics.

“I’m so sorry,” Castiel repeats, and Mr. Smith smiles thinly, burying his head in Castiel’s neck again.

“God, you smell so good Cas. ‘Makes me feel better,” Mr. Smith mumbles into his skin, and Cas is no longer hoping quite so hard that Charlie arrives. “Kinda nice, right? Poetic judgment or somethin’, right?”

“Justice, I think you mean,” Castiel corrects gently, giving in a little to run a hand through the Omega’s short hair. Mr.Smith practically melts against him. Castiel finds the guilt is largely overshadowed by the man’s broken whimper.

“Yeah, like you were drunk and wanted me back then, now I want you and m’a little tipsy too,” Mr. Smith grins goofily, arms tightening around Castiel’s waist.

But soon, before Castiel can think of a reply to that, the housewoman does arrive, arms folded and eyebrow raised. Castiel doesn’t say anything, just gently pulls Mr. Smith back again.

“I think it would be a good time to head back to your room, Mr. Smith,” Cas says carefully.  
Castiel musters up his courage and meets Mr. Smith’s green eyes with purpose, so that the man pouts, but reluctantly moves out of Cas’ space.

Castiel releases a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

“Oo-kay...” Charlie says, eyeing the pair of them curiously. “You get to come with me and _you_ ,” Charlie points at Castiel. “Get to tell me what’s going on later.”

Charlie drags Mr. Smith away to the elevators, but Castiel can just about hear him babbling away.

“You got it _all_ wrong, Charlie. Cas is a gentleman. He’s an Alpha, did you know that? But he’s so _soft_. Like a teddy bear you put in your pocket or somethin’. So soft and he smells good, too...”

Castiel runs a hand over his forehead, unsurprised to find sweat has soaked through his hair and is pooling at his temples.

That was... interesting.

But Castiel doesn’t have much time to consider the event or its implications when a group of younger guests enter the vestibule and attempt to open the locked door. Before Castiel even has a chance to speak, they pound noisily on the glass, panicking. Rolling his eyes and shaking his head tiredly, Castiel hurries to get behind the desk so he can buzz them in.

“Holy _shit_ , dude!” a short blonde haired man exclaims to his friend. “I totally thought we were gonna like, _die_ out there or somethin’.”

His friends crack up at that as they approach the desk, and soon Castiel is bombarded with requests for late night delivery and extra toilet paper sent to the room. He knows the small requests will keep Charlie too busy to ask questions, but it also means Castiel has to wait for any news from Dean’s room. Which proves to be… _difficult_.

In fact, though his job puts him in frustrating situations, Castiel is very even tempered. When hired, Crowley had actually believed him to be a Beta. Once he found out Castiel was actually an Alpha, he was surprised, suspicious even. Why would an Alpha seek such meager prospects? Even more concerning was, _how_ was Castiel _staying_? After a few years, Crowley stopped being so incredulous and started being more disdainful. 

But despite his near perfect reputation as a patient, attentive customer service representative, Castiel finds himself… _antsy_. It’s unfamiliar, the itch he feels prickle at the back of his neck when he thinks of Mr. Smith alone in his room. It makes him snap at a customer who asks him what time breakfast is for the sixth time since they checked in. It makes him miss a payment in his reports so that he has to start all over again. By the time four thirty rolls around, Castiel is calling Charlie on the radio to slip the check out bills under the guests’ that are leaving doors in a sharper voice than strictly necessary.

“Hey, Cas,” Charlie says when she arrives. Her hair is a mess and she looks… well, frazzled.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” Castiel positively growls.

“Whoa, calm down little Alpha. We get it, you’re worried,” Charlie says, holding up her hands to placate Castiel. He growls in full at the familiar nickname. He then realizes his stance is threatening and he’s baring his teeth. Relaxing his death grip on the desk a little, he takes a deep breath.

“Nothing happened,” Charlie adds. “Mr Smith is just… Having a bit of a rough time. I stayed to help him out a little, but…”

Charlie looks sheepish and Castiel huffs in impatience. He should really check the calendar. He thought he was weeks away from his rut.

“What?” Castiel demands. “But what?”

“Well,” Charlie answers. “I tried to help him…” Castiel outright growls and Charlie rolls her eyes. “Gross, not like that. God. I just asked if he wanted me to call someone or do something, but… I don’t think I’m the Alpha he wants to help him right now.”

Of _course_. Hadn’t Mr. Smith mentioned a woman at work? Lisa? Perhaps he needed her to satiate his heat. Castiel had smelled good, sure, because he is an Alpha and Mr. Smith is in heat, but he probably wants someone he knows, someone he trusts…

“He keeps asking for you,” Charlie finally finishes, and Castiel’s gaze snaps to hers.

He flushes with… embarrassment? Pleasure? Pride? Castiel can’t really pinpoint how he feels, but Charlie is walking away with the receipts in her hand without another word.

Castiel is left to think about how Mr. Smith, seventeen floor away, is in heat, _asking_ for him. 

Shit.


End file.
